Hey, Hey! Ho, Ho! The Oakland Women's March

I almost didn't go because I had a cold, but on Saturday morning I felt I couldn't miss it.  I had to show up.

Drums, banners, bells, signs, chants--it's been so long since I went to a march (2002),  I'd forgotten what it's like.  We'd shuffle a couple of steps forward and stop and wait.  We'd take a few more steps.  Camaraderie, yes.  Forward motion, not so much.  Funneling 84,000 people through the streets of downtown Oakland takes time.

 The vibe was good.  Everybody you can think of was represented:  every ethnicity, sexual orientation, and age.  There were old people with walkers, small children in strollers,  and the full spectrum of genders and hair color.   Even a pair of topless young women (shiver). 

The youngest marcher I saw was eight months old:

Me to the mother:  A girl?

Mother:  Well, that's how she identifies now, but who knows?

A sampling of signs and people:

 

I went with my friend Claudia, and we ran into a Berkeley dorm pal, c. 1970-71. 

 Thea and Claudia, who hadn't met up since c. 1972

Getting down to Oakland was no picnic.  Jerry dropped us off at the El Cerrito BART Station, which was mobbed.

Everyone managed to push on to the next train, which was crowded to start with. It zoomed to the North Berkeley station, where there was also a mobbed platform, but few could get on. After that, virtually no one could board the train, even though the platform in every station was swarming with waiting marchers, all through Berkeley and into Oakland.

We finally got off at the Oakland 12th Street Station and hoofed it to the starting point of the march at 9th and Madison.  That was the last time we walked more than three steps in a row until we peeled off an hour and a half later near the Oakland Museum.  We didn't finish the march because despite all the enthusiasm and outrage, we simply pooped out.   Four blocks in an hour-and-a-half!   But our hearts were in it and we showed up.  News helicopters circled the march intermittently and everyone would would wave and shout.

 My own pussyhat, knit by my friend Debbie, another 1970-71 Berkeley dormie.  She knit eight pussyhats, which were worn in marches around the country.

Judging from social media, many of my friends went to marches: LA, San Francisco, San Jose, Oakland,  Sacramento, Fort Bragg, Pt. Reyes Station, and Albuquerque. 

Hey,  hey, we're here!